


Ice Over Fire

by averageclawenfangirl



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: Angst, Clawen, F/M, I Tried, Pathetic Fallacy?, Smut, There's a thunderstorm, idk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-13 23:17:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7989874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/averageclawenfangirl/pseuds/averageclawenfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Owen's never been able to understand Claire Dearing. They belong on different levels, from separate worlds. He can't resist her, though, and she surprises him in the strangest way possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this wasn’t based on a prompt at all, per se. It’s the result of hours of brainstorming/fangirling/genuinely crying over potential Clawen situations with the ever-wonderful [@birdmacklin](https://tmblr.co/mpPQOHqsPeM_bXqm9t6jINw)  
> ❤️ Sarah, you are the goddamn best. I hope you enjoy this belated birthday gift! This is one of two parts, and, yes.. It’s a little (a lot?) NSFW. I hope you guys enjoy this - I took my time with it!

_‘She has been waiting for you, just as long as you have been waiting for her. Find her. Keep her. Live for her. A woman like her comes once in a lifetime. She will carry your pain, and teach you to love again.’_ **R.M Drake**

Owen leant his forearms on the metal with a heavy sigh. He was sure they could sense it, the girls; bad weather on the horizon. Owen was mostly thankful - the humidity was almost unbearable - but the weight of a storm in the air made it near impossible to carry out any training with the velociraptors. They were skittish, paying no heed to his commands, shaking him off with a look in their eye he’d become familiar with. Owen had immersed himself in his relationship with the four of them; humans, in his opinion, the more overrated species.

From his position on the catwalk, Owen could see the dark clouds looming over the lush greenery of Isla Nublar. He finally called it a day; instructing the handlers on the ground level to pull the girls into their harnesses, a routine medical check so the day didn’t go completely wasted. His boots were heavy on the steps; his dejected mood proving difficult to shift. Owen’s thoughts decamped to the weekend, what might lay in store for him and Barry. Though working with velociraptors wasn’t the most boring job in the world, the downtime around shifts could get a little dragging.

There were only so many things he could fix on his bike; and he’d renovated the bungalow Masrani had given him upon arrival within six weeks. Owen hit golf balls into the lake, played Eric Church too loud, invited over the coworkers who didn’t irritate him too much for tequila and wild stories of the past. Owen was all about simple pleasures, getting what he could out of life. The mainland was a temptress; he and Barry sneaking on one of the last ferries over on a Saturday night, attempting in some vague way to recapture the time of their youths. They’d end up in a bar crawling with locals, a different girl with her hand on his knee every time. 

Women were a weak spot for Owen. He just couldn’t seem to help himself; sneaking out of an apartment at dawn on Sunday, sheepishly grinning to himself as he made his way back to the port in his clothes from the night before. He never disrespected women - his grandma taught him better than that - it was merely a simple transaction, both parties leaving satisfied. Owen wasn’t fond of attachments of any kind. His junkie mother abandoned Owen at six months old; her own mom picking up the slack and taking in her grandson. He never knew who his father was, and his grandma dying when he was sixteen left Owen heartbroken and very much alone. 

The navy had been his saviour, his distraction from the agony of losing his only relative. Owen sealed off his emotions; developing an even thicker skin than before and showing no mercy. He didn’t want to feel anymore; he preferred the the isolation that came with military training. Owen carried it with him even as he departed the service; being able to count his friends on the island on one hand. 

Owen scrubbed at his face wearily as he punched in the buttons to let him in to the harnessing area. He couldn’t help but think about how the game was getting slightly tired, how he came away from the weekend a little less smug every time. He was _bored_ of it; bored of the senseless fucking. He’d been a player for as long as he could remember, women shamelessly attracted to his rugged looks and mysterious military past. It’d been fun, but Owen could feel himself wanting something more, and it frightened him a little. 

_You’re losing your mind, Grady_ , he chastised himself, squatting down beside Barry as he ran a hand over Delta’s snout; her amber eyes following his every move. “She okay?” Owen asked, and the other man shrugged. “Seems to be. You know her - stubborn girl,” he chuckled, and Owen grinned. He didn’t always have the time to complain about the direction his life was heading in. The sisters were his life and soul, being the alpha of their pack his proudest achievement to date. Owen saw his younger self within them; eager and ready to take a bite out of the world. 

“You can take off once you’re done there,” Owen said as they both stood, noting that their other coworkers had taken it upon themselves to disperse before the heavy weather hit. “That storm’s gonna be a real bad one, and you know how it screws with the tracks back to the resort,” Owen smiled, and Barry went to shake his hand. “Thanks, man. You need a ride?” He asked, and Owen shook his head. “Nah, I’m probably gonna stick it out here. There’s a statistics document Dearing was supposed to pick up a half hour ago, and I ain’t even started yet,” he grinned foolishly, Barry rolling his eyes. Owen had often spent a night holed up in the on-site office, half-assing an important report that had been due in days ago. 

“You know, one day; trying to get a reaction out of her is going to cost you your _job_ ,” his friend laughed, and Owen shrugged. “Nah,” he chuckled, “I’d never push her too far.” Barry stared at him imploringly, throwing the metal feed bucket for Owen to catch. “For the sake of our project, my friend, I hope you’re right,” he murmured, clapping Owen on the back as he passed, moving over to Echo. Barry had been the one to nudge Owen when he’d noticed him gazing at Claire for one too many moments in conferences, sometimes stepping between the two when they were ready to tear one another’s throats out. 

His friend was convinced that Owen carried a torch for the Operations Manager of Jurassic World, the woman seemingly untouchable and unreachable by so many. She was straight lines and tight smiles, keeping herself distanced from everybody and anybody. Barry was right in the sense that Owen couldn’t get enough of her; harmlessly baiting Claire every time she forced herself to speak to him. The tension between them was rife; hinged on her smart mouth and his relentless tease. It was an addiction - _she_ was an addiction - Owen was intrigued by her; the woman with no friends, who’d put Jurassic World on the map, and just so happened to be the goddamn sexiest woman he’d ever laid eyes on. _And today_ ; Owen mused as he checked his watch, _she was late_. 

Owen felt a bead of sweat roll across the valley of his collarbone; the humidity was rising, the thunder surely close now. His shirt was practically glued to him; his pants covered in dirt and rats blood. He and Claire were world’s apart; yet it didn’t stop him going back every time, determined to see that blush, that slight smile gracing her lips when she thought he wasn’t watching. There was _something_ there, and Claire felt it too. He was almost certain. Owen smiled a little to himself as he adjusted the collar worn by Blue, crouching beside her, the animal snarling a little as he ran a hand across her scales. “Easy, girl,” he hushed, searching for abnormalities, the scanner ticking over, thankfully finding none. 

Owen was certain humans were dispensable; he’d seen countless men and women die in front of his very eyes - good, decent people, taken too early by pointless war. His grandma, the sweetest angel he’d ever known, robbed of life by cancer. Blue blinked several times; observing Owen carefully. He was solidly against attachment; preferring to breeze through life, to be remembered as a man who made the jokes but never had his heart broken. Nobody had ever asked him stick around anyway. Nobody needed Owen, and in return, he’d turned his back to the world.

“Ah, here’s trouble,” he heard Barry murmur beside him, throwing his thoughts off course. Looking up, Owen saw Claire finally approaching the compound, clearly out for his blood. He watched her flick her hair over her shoulder, set her posture straight. _Man, she was a delight_. All cool skin and vicious, beautiful green eyes; slanted cheekbones and incredible red hair. The unbelievable figure she possessed was encased neatly in a prim and proper white dress; but Owen was too aware of how the material clung to the sensual curve of her breasts, her flat stomach, the ripe swell of her ass. Clothes did little to conceal it. His throat dried as Owen watched Claire pick her way across the dust in her heels; knowing she was about to bring all kinds of hellfire down around his ears.

Claire stopped short just outside the enclosure, glowering through the bars as Owen stayed knelt beside Blue. She smiled in Barry’s direction before turning her attention back to him. “Can I have a word, please, Mr Grady?” She asked. “You can have several, ma'am,” he chuckled, immensely enjoying the way her cheeks reddened, her eyes glaring as she stared him out. “I didn’t come here for your jokes,” Claire cleared her throat, unimpressed. “You sure about that? They’re some of the best around,” Owen replied with a smirk, unable to help himself, a kid in a candy shop. 

Ms Dearing wasn’t in a playful mood today. “ _Now_ , Mr Grady. I have better things to do than to let you waste my time,” she sighed, turning on her heel, beginning what seemed to be a circuit of the enclosure. Owen raised his eyebrows at Barry, whose face was a picture of ‘ _I told you so_.’ “I’ll be heading off in about five minutes,” his friend informed him, “so I’ll see you tomorrow.” Owen nodded, shoulders slumping in defeat as he stood, ready to have his ass handed to him for something or another. “Take care, bud,” he said fleetingly to Barry as he exited through the gate. “I say the same to you,” his friend laughed, as Owen pulled a face.

“Speaking of wasting time.. You gonna tell me why you’re late?” Owen asked, folding his arms over one another, walking along side her. “That’s none of your business,” Claire said firmly, her hands clasped as she managed to walk foot-perfect through the dirt. “No, it ain’t,” Owen reasoned, “but you do realise that the bad weather’s gonna roll in soon. You might get stuck here.” He glanced at Claire, and saw she was smiling slightly. “With all due respect, I’ve been stuck in a _lot_ worse places before. I think I can handle it,” she shrugged, and Owen grinned. She was a stubborn, fierce woman, and it only made him desire her even more.

“Mr Grady, it’s come to my attention via the employee grapevine that you are going to request that we double your budget for supplies down here. Is this true?” Claire asked, and Owen froze a little, thrown by her accusation. “I’d mentioned it in passing to Hoskins. It was somethin’ I was gonna bring up formally in a discussion. I didn’t mean for it to reach you that way,” Owen said awkwardly, scrubbing at his head with a hand, the sound of Barry’s car moving off in the distance. “I gathered,” Claire said coldly as they continued their tour of the compound. “I can save you the trouble of holding a meeting with me - it won’t happen. There’s simply no means by which we can justify an increase in funding over here,” she shrugged. 

Owen stopped abruptly, his feet crunching in the asphalt. “You’re not even gonna hear me _out?_ That’s hardly fair, Claire. We’re making waves with these velociraptors, and we need all the support we can get -” he managed, anger boiling in his veins, before Claire held up a hand to stop him. “That’s all very well, but you have to understand that I oversee _every_ area of this park. I’m responsible for the development and sustainability of every asset in the care of Jurassic World,” she said, and turned her palm up to the sky as the first droplets of rain began to fall. Unnoticed by the two of them, the sky had darkened considerably, Mother Nature deciding she’d had enough. Claire looked at the rain in her palm with distaste. Owen ignored it. 

“You can’t just turn your back on us,” he retorted angrily, “InGen have deadlines that _must_ be met. We’re advancing at a steady rate, but more needs to be done in order to show real progress. I wouldn’t ask for the cash for any other reason,” Owen said, trying to keep the anger on a low simmer. “Like I said,” Claire muttered, her gaze steely as hell as the rain began to fall freely, “I understand your point, Mr Grady -” Owen interrupted, unable to stand it for a moment longer. “I don’t think you do. Those animals in there? They should be thought of as a _priority_. We’re workin’ on something huge here. So, will you consider; just for a minute, that I might _actually_ know more about something than you do?” He argued, and Claire laughed mirthlessly, neither one willing to back down, though they were becoming increasingly drenched with every passing moment. 

“No, I won’t. If I suddenly grant Project IBRIS a loan - or even an extension on the one you _already_ have down here - the other assets may have to go without the essentials that they require. Don’t you _see_?! Jurassic World is becoming increasingly tough to keep afloat, and the company is deciding _now_ is the time to push for genetic modification!” Claire half-yelled as the heavens continued to open above them. “I can’t have any animals here living without something they may need. You _must_ think of the bigger picture! We cannot afford to endanger them for the sake of pumping money into something that doesn’t have a clear end game!” She continued, her chest heaving as a result of her tirade, the two of them pressed almost together in their anger. 

“I’m not buying into the corporate bullshit, Claire. You need to make the figures add up, I respect that. I just don’t think you fully understand what it’s like to be out _here_ , working your ass off day after day for something that could be taken away just like _that_ ,” Owen said angrily; the downpour crashing against his shoulders. Claire’s eyes narrowed as she took a step back from him, wiping her eyes as her bangs lie flat against her face. “You think I enjoy this, don’t you? You think I _enjoy_ wielding the axe over people’s heads, their projects? I’m fully aware of the passion you have for these animals. Just because you don’t _see_ it, doesn’t mean I don’t share it!” She pointed a finger accusingly in his direction. 

Owen swallowed, losing himself in her gaze, realisation washing over him, as real as the rain falling from above. Claire Dearing _cared_. Actually, really _cared_ about the dinosaurs living on Isla Nublar. She wasn’t cold; untouchable in her corporate fortress high above them all. She struggled as he did; right beside her, fighting it out for what mattered to them both. He knew it was within her somewhere; Owen had just never considered that he’d be the one to unravel it all. Yet, here she was; Claire Dearing, Senior Assets Manager, almost screaming at him in the midst of a tropical storm all because she _cared_. 

“Stop,” Owen finally snapped, teeth gritted. Without thinking of the consequences, his heart hammering in his chest, Owen moved closer, guided by instinct, his hands sliding into her hair, thumbs on her cheekbones. He kissed her, fleetingly, her noise of surprise against his lips. “Just.. _Stop_ ,” Owen broke away, voice hoarse. Claire blinked several times; he drowned in her eyes, the dark lashes fringing them, rain sluicing against her skin. She trembled, gripped him by the lapels, meeting his mouth with her own. 

The kiss was furious; they’d wound one another like ticking clocks, the result an explosion of passion. His hands lay against her back, pulling her close; hers gravitating to his hair, tugging slightly, the two of them eager, clawing at one another. They broke apart when lightening flashed above them, realisation dawning over Claire’s face. “The position I’m in here.. It’s _tough._ You don’t make it any easier by driving me crazy,” she said softly, her red hair dark and plastered against her skin as she bit her lip. “Likewise,” he muttered, his hands running against past her shoulders. “Come on,” Owen ushered, clutching her hand, heading for the office as thunder echoed in the skies around them. 

//

The second the door was closed behind them; Claire had Owen pressed against it, her hands behind his head, on her toes to meet his lips. Locking the door didn’t cross his mind; only Barry and Owen shared the office anyway, the space sparsely occupied by two desks, a tiny bathroom and a wide, low-backed battered leather couch below the window. Owen was too preoccupied by the feel of Claire beneath his hands; her skin damp from the downpour, yet so soft and exquisitely inviting. She was impatient; the thought made him smile as Claire scrambled to tear his shirt off his head, her fingers reaching for his belt buckle as soon as the soaked Henley was on the ground.

“I can’t work you out,” he said quietly, watching her tongue between her teeth as she struggled with his pants. Claire looked up for a moment, her hands stilling, eyes hazed with lust. “Then don’t try to. _I_ don’t even know what I’m doing, but, for some reason, I don’t want to stop,” she murmured hastily. He noted Claire’s intake of breath as she ran her fingers over his biceps; before he dropped down onto the couch beside them; pulling Claire over his lap, fingers digging into her thighs as she straddled him. 

He helped as Claire tugged her drenched dress over her head, throwing it behind her somewhere carelessly in a way very removed from corporate queen. It left her looking even better than he’d ever imagined in the thousand of fantasies Owen had had; wearing nothing other than soaked coffee-coloured scraps of lace, barely contrasting against her pale skin. “God fuckin’ _damn_ it,” Owen muttered, his breathing shallow as his eyes roamed over her hungrily. “What?!” Claire asked breathlessly, concern in her voice.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he half-growled, Claire biting down on her grin as she reached around to unclasp her bra. Owen slipped his fingers under the straps to aid the journey down her shoulders, dropping it to the floor like the dress before it. Owen swallowed, hard, as Claire moved to brush her damp, curling hair off her shoulders; jutting her perfect, pert breasts close to his face. “We shouldn’t do this,” she sighed, “should we?”

Owen reached out, cupped her breasts by way of an answer, painfully turned on by how they fit so well in his hands. Claire stilled; her breathing shallow as she watched him through darkened eyes. Owen moved so his fingers were stroking her sides, his thumbs working her breasts over; Claire dropping her head back as she writhed in pleasure. “It just feels like the right - the right - oh, _God.._ ” she cried quietly; grinding against him helplessly, thrusting herself wantonly into his arms. Owen groaned; Claire was so hot for him, so ready, and he’d barely even started. 

Owen wanted to savour the moment; to tease her mercilessly with just his thumbs, dominance stirring in his belly, but he was just as eager for her. Claire was nothing short of divine; sweat already sheening on her skin, her scent of vanilla still hanging sweetly in the air around them. He leant forward to put her out of her misery; his kisses first dancing in the valley of her collarbone before travelling to her breasts. Claire whimpered, clutching at his hair desperately; the sound of her so utterly beside herself for him causing Owen to harden beneath her, growling into her skin. _She was something else entirely._

Claire was soft and heavenly; his teeth biting a little into her breast, enjoying the way the breath hitched even further in her throat. “Owen,” Claire moaned, and he was struck dumb by the fact it was the first time she’d used his name, and how insanely sexy it felt to hear it. “Say it again,” he asked unabashedly, command in his voice. He lifted his head from her chest to level with Claire’s face; her eyes, his hands snaking down to grip her behind, squeeze it for all it was worth. Owen was already a man in love; her physical finesse a fine match for her mind.

_“Owen,”_ Claire complied tantalisingly, her mouth over his in an instant, tongues sliding against one another’s. She was still grinding her hips against him; the two of them craving contact. Just his name from her lips sent him spiralling. His mind fell blank; everything else tell away apart from Claire and how she was making him _feel_. Owen was beyond aroused; he wanted her more than he could ever remember desiring a woman in his entire life. He moved; shifting so she was beneath him, her back pressed to the couch. Owen knelt between her legs, Claire watching him intently, her bottom lip caught between her teeth in anticipation. 

“You’re _sure_ you want this?” Owen asked quietly, smoothing his hands against her thighs, up and over her panties, Claire quivering beneath him. Owen couldn’t describe what was happening to him; he’d never been this apprehensive, so full of adrenaline, so crazy for a woman who had never made sense to him before now. He was entering a moment of pure clarity. Claire nodded her head, propped on her elbows; Owen could’ve sworn she’d never looked so beautiful, submitting to him with her hair curling about her shoulders, her body waiting and wanting. 

Owen hooked his fingers into the lace and soon her panties were slipping off her ankles; Claire entirely bare beneath him. The rain was still battering the cabin; lightening flashing in the sky outside, thunder rolling across them like God himself. But _nothing_ could and would ever distract Owen from her; Claire was a goddess, her pale skin luminous, laid out for him to devour. There was a delicious contrast between her nakedness and him still partially clothed; he was struggling to hold himself back. Owen slid off the couch, kneeling beside it, tugging her ankles closer to him. Pulling one of Claire’s legs over his shoulder with ease, Owen bit into the inside of her thigh tenderly, feeling Claire shake against him, moan spilling from her mouth as his thumb ran circles against her skin. 

It was difficult to keep his calm around her; unable to control his passion. Owen had been waiting for so long, had dreamt of her - like this, _needing_ him - so many times, it didn’t seem real. He had learnt so much; she’d shaken off the camouflage he’d placed over her. Claire Dearing was so much more than Owen had ever dared to envisage, her touch against his skin searing him in a way no other woman had managed to. He was certain he’d never achieve such a level of perfection again; her spine arching as Claire convulsed against his administrations, eager for more. Their connection was primal; they were fire and ice, surely born of two different worlds, converging as one. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Okay, so, whoever remembers this story - here’s the second and last part. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope I’ve tied up every point that needed it. Obviously, a little heads-up: this contains smut! Lmao. This was created as a belated birthday gift for the ever-fabulous[@birdmacklin](https://tmblr.co/mpPQOHqsPeM_bXqm9t6jINw) \- my soul sister and partner in Pratt-related crime. I hope you like it! ❤️ _

It could have been hours. It may have been minutes. Owen wasn’t certain of much at all; wrapped in the blanket he’d pulled off the back of the couch, Claire close beside him. The weather hadn’t improved as the sky grew darker, the night closing in around them. The windows were steamed up, the only light coming from the lamp beside them. Claire shifted next to him, turning on her side, her hand falling flat against his chest as her head rested on his shoulder. The embrace was intimate, familiar; a position a couple who may have been together for years may have been found in. _Not them, surely. Not this soon_ , Owen mused as his arm stayed round her shoulder.

True, he’d had what was probably the best sex of his entire life so far. Claire was utterly spellbinding; the way she left him breathless, kept him striving to give her every last ounce of pleasure. It was different - _she_ was different - to how Owen had been with any other woman. He wanted Claire to stay right there beside him; her nails contracting over his skin as he dropped a gentle kiss to her hair. “So, what do we do now?” He heard her ask tentatively, her face looking toward him. 

Owen grinned, gazing back at her, chuckling weakly. “Probably stick together,” he murmured, free hand resting against her face, thumb trailing over her cheekbone. “You know, uh, for survival,” he said, rolling his eyes to the weather outside. They both laughed, then; the same exhausted mirth oozing from the both of them. Their systems were shattered; the anger that lead them there temporarily forgotten in the beautiful devastation that had followed. 

“I’d ask how the hell this even happened, but I think your friend Mr Dumont could answer that for both of us,” Claire said quietly, turning onto her front to look at him. “Barry?” Owen asked curiously, reaching out to tuck a strand of her hair, now wildly curling about her face, behind her ear. Claire nodded, a smile playing across her lips. “He made a comment, once. He’d never seen you look at a woman the way you did at me,” Claire said softly as Owen rolled his eyes. “Of course, at the time, I told him he was being _awfully_ inappropriate and that he must stop talking nonsense, but I never forgot it,” she continued, her voice a little wistful as her gaze held his own. 

“Obviously, I’m less than impressed that you know about that,” Owen laughed after a moment, “but I ain’t ever been one to argue with the truth,” he said, and Claire smiled. They slipped into easy conversation in the hour that followed; Claire educating him with a brief, poetic history of herself, Owen following suit, his summary more revealing than he’d intended. Claire listened, though, her eyes wide and trusting; asking about his grandmother, telling him how brave he had been in the Navy. 

“And there I was,” Owen laughed after her sentiment, “thinking you hated me.” Claire raised her eyebrows, “Oh, I do. With a _passion_ ,” she teased, Owen shaking his head in disbelief. “Spontaneity isn’t my strong point,” Claire said after a while, trailing her nails lazily through the hair on his chest. “I’ve never done anything like -” she began to argue, until Owen silenced her with a finger pressed to her lips. “It doesn’t matter. Stop worrying about the future, learn to live in the here and now. _Trust_ me, it’s the best thing you’ll ever do,” he said sincerely, her green gaze burning into his own. Claire rolled her eyes, taking his finger between her teeth and biting down gently, a mischievous smile playing across her face. Owen felt himself grinning wickedly. 

“What’s so good about the here and now?” Claire asked after she released him, narrowing her eyes sceptically. “Want me to show you?” Owen chuckled darkly, before he stood from the couch, taking Claire over his shoulder in one fluid motion. He headed toward the bathroom in the corner of the office; specifically the tiny shower they kept there. “The pressure ain’t the best, but we’ll live,” he murmured, carrying her over as she laughed into his shoulder.

//

Some time later, Owen was sat in the office chair behind his desk, towel wrapped round his waist. It was an antique gifted to him by his Grandma; excessively large and covered with papers, maps of the island, news cuttings and a few empty shot glasses. He hadn’t bothered to dress yet, but had offered Claire some of the clothes he kept in the drawers there. The raptors, when they were young, had a fondness of tearing holes into his pants, spitting rat blood on his shirts. As a result, he’d always been prepared. She left the bathroom dressed in one of his Henleys, and a pair of his grey sweatpants, rolled twice round her hips to keep them there. 

Claire was a feast for the eyes; her makeup long gone, Owen could see the freckles dusting the bridge of her nose, the natural rose of her lips. His shirt hung loosely off her; but it was no matter, now he knew what was underneath. He’d always known she was beautiful; but Claire in all her natural glory only seemed to exaggerate it more. They really were stuck; the rain was relentless against the office, pounding the walls, and the clock had only just ticked past 12am. Sleep was seemingly out of the question. “What are you up to?” Claire asked as she hung her dress over the closet door, and Owen looked up from the computer monitor. 

“You really wanna know?” He asked weakly, and she nodded. “My budget request. The formal version. See, I was workin’ on it before Hoskins decided to shoot his mouth off,” Owen shrugged, and Claire rounded the desk with intrigue. “Can I take a look?” She said, and Owen nodded, moving to leave his desk chair so she could sit. Instead, Claire dropped down into his lap, Owen leaning back in the recliner slightly as her warm weight settled over him. Claire’s eyes scanned the screen, the mouse pointer bobbing this way and that. At some points, she stopped, typing faster than Owen could read, and he only assumed she was making improvements. 

She finally breathed out, settling back against his body. Owen still was uncertain of the arrangement; though they’d fucked relentlessly in the shower, and on the couch before it, he wasn’t sure what to make of the display of closeness. He feared her more with her clothes on; the strange way they’d settled into _something_ so soon. “This is good, Owen. _Really_ good,” she sighed. “You think so?” Owen murmured, surprised by her admission. “I was about to delete it,” he sighed. “I thought we didn’t have a hope in hell,” He muttered tersely, unable to keep the sarcastic edge from his voice. “That’s what _I_ said, yes. I think you should appeal directly to _Simon_. He likes you - trusts you, even. I know he’s not mad about the control InGen have, but he knows there’s not a lot he can do about it. It’s worth a shot, either way,” she said quietly.

“Really?!” Owen said, a little in shock. He’d met Masrani on several occasions; the man always overly enthusiastic around him, recommending him for several projects. With that relationship hanging over his head and Claire’s encouraging words, Owen allowed himself to believe there may be a chance for him and the girls. “You’ve got nothing to lose. I can see how much you’ve achieved here, and how much they mean to you..” Claire trailed off, and Owen knew they were sharing the same flashback that had brought them there, the heated argument in the freezing rain. 

“I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions,” Owen murmured, “I don’t know what it must be like to have to deal with assholes like me from every department.” Claire laughed a little, then. She turned round to face Owen with easy grace, sitting across his hips, the chair just about accommodating their new position. “Believe me, Mr Grady, your persistence and tenacity means there is no other asshole _quite_ like you,” Claire laughed, her hands sliding behind his head as she brought herself close to kiss him, his lips meeting hers eagerly, already hungry for her. His tongue traced her lower lip; he was greedy, blinded by need. 

The kiss turned feverish in an instant; the chair leant back as far as it would possibly go as Claire tugged and pulled at his hair. It was cathartic; the way she urged him forward, the heady mix of pain and pleasure. He could barely think straight; his mind full of Claire and how she made him feel. He slipped his hands against her back, under his own shirt, sliding it up and over her head. She hadn’t yet taken the liberty of wearing her underwear again, and Owen almost growled his appreciation as he kissed the hollow of her throat; trailing his lips between her breasts, peppering them with kisses. 

Claire gathered him against her chest as she hummed in pleasure; Owen bowled over by her scent all over again, the sweetest vanilla still lingering even after the downpour. Her skin was the smoothest, softest marble, glowing pristine in the low light of the room. Owen’s hands slipped below the waistline of her - _his_ \- sweatpants, cupping and rolling her ass between his hands, much to her apparent appreciation, judging by the sounds she made in his ear, the way her hips swung in response. _Fuck, she was magic_ , Owen groaned inwardly as Claire gripped his biceps, nails digging into his flesh.

He stood up, taking her weight with him easily. Owen laid her flat on his desk; she was tiny against the dark oak as he tore the material down her thighs with no real care for the fabric, tossing them aside. Owen was like a man after a drought - he’d never get enough of her. He ran his hands over her bare legs; tracing circles onto her skin, thoroughly enjoying how his slightest touch seemed to set her alight; Claire’s spine arching off the desk as she writhed under him. 

She took a breath as Owen paused, reaching forward to tug at the towel round his waist, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. Claire looked so achingly _young_ ; so playful, another shade to her he’d never had the privilege to see. Owen was dismantling her, layer by layer. He raised an eyebrow at Claire’s tenacity; the tips of his fingers brushing her throat as he gently encouraged her to resume her flat position. She smiled shyly, silently obeying his quiet command, as Owen took her ankle between his hands. 

He pressed a kissed to her instep, the inside of her calf, working his way along to her thigh; repeating the process on the opposite side, all the while Claire’s breathing became more laboured as observed him through widening eyes, her head falling back. He bit softly into her inner thigh; sucking her skin just enough to bruise her lightly. Not that Owen wanted to cause her pain, but he wanted Claire to _remember_ how he made her feel. She seemed to appreciate the gesture; judging by the moan falling from her lips. 

Owen released her, letting the towel fall from his waist in one fluid motion; unable to keep himself from her any longer. He shifted forward over her, the desk accommodating the both of them, and finally they began to move as one; pure ecstasy flooding his veins. Her eyes were wild as she succumbed; Owen leant down to kiss her, catching her bottom lip with his teeth, her tongue sliding over his. 

Claire moved her hands; presumably towards his shoulders, but Owen clasped them between his own, holding them down either side of her head. The alpha in him had been awakened by Claire; as it always had been, the urge to keep her beneath him, subjected to all the pleasure he could give her too strong. In that moment; she was his, and he hers. It should’ve frightened Owen to death, but right then, as the world fell apart around them, Owen was too intoxicated by her to even care. 

//

“Thanks for the lift,” Owen hummed as he gathered his things about him. Claire had offered to drive him home in her Mercedes; the bad weather finally subsiding at 5am, the roads drained enough to leave to compound by 7. They’d gravitated toward the couch again some time in the early morning; and Owen had woken with Claire draped over his chest, his arms round her shoulders as her chest rose and fell in deep sleep. It was hard choice to wake her; but Owen wasn’t stupid, the first shift at the compound began at 9, and he wasn’t about to throw them both to the wolves. 

“It’s not a problem,” Claire said quietly now, the two of them gazing at one another as the sun rose weakly above the bungalow. Owen felt a sinking sensation float through him; a true comedown from the high she’d given him for the past twelve hours. Reality was setting into their bones; as sure as the blue sky welcomed a new day on the island. He was certain she’d play it off as though it never happened, like whatever had occurred in the bungalow was a figment of Owen’s wildest imagination. 

“I guess I’ll see you around - thanks for the tip off about Masrani. It’s definitely somethin’ I’ll get organised,” Owen nodded his head, eager to flee the car, nurse his bruised ego. Claire had barely said a word since they’d woken, even less on the journey to his home; Owen’s mind swam with her thoughts. _Was he a shit lay?_ Most likely not; Claire had been helplessly hot in his arms. It was painful to even remember the sight of the waves of pleasure caressing her face; her slight yet sensual body leaping to his touch. 

_No, it had to be her professionalism_. Claire couldn’t - _wouldn’t_ \- risk her position to flirt around with some dinosaur cowboy. Owen knew that; it was just a hard pill to swallow. “Don’t mention it. That document you’ve produced is great, truly - all the bases you need are covered, and you have a counter for each possible argument. How on earth did you manage to compose something like that so fast, yet could never have your routine statistic reports finished for me?” Claire asked indignantly, a little smile on her face. 

“Do you really have to ask?” Owen shrugged, the answer, to him, glaringly obvious. “That’s something Barry never told me,” Claire said softly, teeth sinking down into her lower lip. Owen wanted to bolt from the car before he broke his resistance to kiss her again, to wind his hands in that glorious hair still curling crazily about her cheekbones. “Well, I’ll be seein’ you,” Owen murmured, as normal as he could muster, his hand reaching for the handle. 

“Owen, wait,” Claire said hesitantly, reaching out to stop him. “Last night - it shouldn’t have happened,” she said a little breathlessly, and Owen felt himself nodding along, as if to ease the blow of her words. “But I don’t regret it. Whatever there is between us - I meant what I said, yesterday.. I don’t want to deny myself - what I really _want_ \- any longer. I don’t want to keep searching for a reason why, or why we shouldn’t. Is that weird?” she asked, grimacing at her words.

“No, ma'am,” Owen laughed, and she smiled. “I want _more_ , Owen. I want you to be more than just a pain in the ass to me, though I doubt you’d ever stop being that too,” she said softly, her face split into a grin as she watched his do the same. “How about you? I mean -” Claire began, before Owen leant over the console and tugged her close, kissing her fervently by means of an answer. More. Those four letters _meant_ more than she’d ever know, Owen thought as her fingers curled into his shirt. It was something he’d been searching for aimlessly; looking in the wrong places without even knowing. 

Nothing was certain; but Owen knew he had closed a certain chapter of his life as he followed Claire up the steps to the bungalow, basking in her acceptance of his breakfast invitation. Life had had a little extra meaning since she’d merged into his world hours ago, and Owen wasn’t about to let it slip through his fingers. _Was he thinking too far ahead, falling too fast?_ Maybe so, but he could care less. Time would tell. It took a strong woman to change a man; to save him from his worst enemies, and Owen reasoned he was about to make breakfast for the finest of them all. 


End file.
